“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, January 12, 2016
Weakday Wether
On a cool lilac late afternoon
high stratus pass over
aloof and sparse.
The sea shimmers silver
reflecting rosy cloud belly's,
bodies move slow and deliberate,
leaden legs with distant gazes
heavy under hanging haze
our orbit blurs the way
of Monday into grey Tuesday.
The way the moody matter may
flux and such and such a way.
January jumped on fragile February,
leaping on faith,
landing on elsewhere.
Doing days in oscillation
wether
weakly such as;
Mundayne,
Chooseway,
Mostnessday,
Hersday,
and fridaylie,
Why(not)play.
Alternately,
try,
calling each day
new instead of namely
what you always knew.
Image By Pseudopanax at en.wikipedia (Own work) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Feather weather
Before I arose the tangerine sunrise squeezed its citrus air through my bedroom window dripping fresh pulpy nectar of a new day onto the co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...
-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
The ship sailed West on Sunday The wind was too wild on Wednesday Our arrow plane rips the paper sky, severing space for itself, i...

No comments:
Post a Comment